


We Were Caught In a Worn Up Dream

by Navalbacon (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sad America (Hetalia), Sad Russia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, implied Germany/America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Navalbacon
Summary: When Alfred exited the plane, he didn’t think only hours later he’d be shoved roughly up against a wall with Ivan’s dick pressing up against his ass.or it's the Yalta Conference and Alfred and Ivan still have some unresolved feelings and really bad coping skillsthere's a lot of feelings involved in this one folks
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	We Were Caught In a Worn Up Dream

**Author's Note:**

> warning:  
> this is really sad and there's a lot of unresolved feelings and both of the boys have such bad coping skills. 
> 
> also disclaimer:: the implied Germany/America is like, 1920s Germany/America.... not like n*zi shit thats gross

When Alfred exited the plane, he didn’t think only hours later he’d be shoved roughly up against a wall with Ivan’s dick pressing up against his ass. 

  
He moaned; his cheek pressed hard against the wall as he tried to look at the taller nation. He wanted Ivan inside him, relentless, and angry- telling him to shut up, gripping his hair tight, and fucking him until his knees gave out. 

  
They knew it was masochistic, what they were doing. They’d just hurt themselves in the long run. There’d been a time when Ivan would’ve peppered his face with soft and tender kisses. When he would lock him in a warm embrace, when Alfred would stare at him with only love and kindness, lacking any distrust or fear it held now. But that was over thirty years ago and it was nothing like it was now. 

  
Ivan twisted Alfred’s head back, giving him a bruising kiss and Alfred took advantage of this opening, bucking Ivan off of him, hissing at the sting of Ivan’s iron grip being ripped away from his head. Now, Alfred had a solid grip on Ivan’s wrist, twisting it in an almost threatening manner. 

  
Russia looked terrible. Not as bad as he looked at the Tehran Conference but still the light was gone. He heard that the Eastern Front was a different breed of appalling and seeing Russia now, he believed it. Russia’s suit didn’t quite fit him as well as it probably had before, it hung loosely on his frame, stretched only at Ivan’s broad shoulders. It was then that Alfred noticed white gauze peeking out underneath Ivan’s collar. 

  
In another life, Alfred would’ve tentatively touched Ivan, draw his hand up to his shoulders and massage away the tension.   
But they weren’t in that life, Alfred’s mouth screwed into a cruel smile. 

  
Russia was fucking weak. So careful to hide how long it was taking him to heal, careful to pick a suit that’d hide the bandages, that obscured his form. America shouldn’t have been fooled by the get up to begin with. 

Countries who sat on the frontlines, whose cities were being destroyed had a much slower healing factor than countries who weren’t war zones. Who could produce weapons and food without a threat of the Luftwaffe bombing their factories to hell and who ate a filling dinner every night. 

  
Arthur wasn’t shy about his injuries; he was almost prideful. Alfred thinks he purposefully walked into the conference room, arm in a sling and a worn expression painted on his face to show that he had a right to be there, that he had been in the war since the beginning and that he had held Germany back while Ivan and Alfred fucked around. Russia and America had entered the room dressed immaculately, in finely pressed suits complete with false smiles. 

  
America probably had the best healing of all the nations involved in the war at the moment. He was producing war goods like a mad man and now had no threat of home invasion. It would take maybe a few hours- and if he was really fucked up- a day for him to heal from wounds he received on the battlefield. America looked as fresh as a summer harvest compared to Russia. 

  
He began to giggle in such a gross mocking way, and Ivan’s eyes hardened into something that would make others shake in their boots. His grip only tightened when Ivan tried to yank away, a subtle show of strength. As if to say, he could squash him if he wanted to. What was Ivan going to do? He was so broken; the wind could probably knock him down. Where was the great Soviet Union now? 

He didn’t see the fist hitting him like a fucking tank. He stumbled, letting go of Russia’s wrist, cursing as he felt his jaw, his glasses now skewed. 

  
But Russia didn’t give him time to recover before two hands forcefully grabbed his biceps and swung him onto the table that flanked the wall. Russia’s grip would leave welts, was all America could think before their lips locked into something that might be considered a kiss if it weren’t so violent. 

  
Okay, maybe Russia wasn’t weak. America absently thought as Russia began sucking the hollow of his neck. Even now, Russia could still go toe to toe with him, dominate him even. 

  
Maybe it was because at his core, Alfred was sick. 

  
He wanted nothing more than to be decimated by Ivan, fucked senseless and left to put himself together. He deserved it, even. He was just like those stupid European empires, just under a new guise. 

Russia no longer had to hold him in place anymore, America was wrapping his arms behind the man, pushing him closer and closer. A more logical part of him told him he needed to leave. He shouldn’t be doing this with the walking corpse of his lover. No matter how much he shared his face, his body language, his voice- this man wasn’t the Vanya that America knew. But was he even the Fredya that Ivan knew either? So much has happened since then-

  
He gasped as Ivan began to thumb his cock, whispering Russian that he didn’t quiet understand in his ear, if he didn’t know any better it may have sounded sweet. Alfred opened his legs wider, letting Ivan closer, drawing him in. 

  
“солнышко,” he growled, putting more pressure on the head of Alfred’s cock, making something flutter in his stomach at word, it didn't sound right coming from him. He was already semi-hard under Russia’s hand and maybe if this happened a few hours ago, he would’ve been ashamed. 

  
Russia is speaking faster now, in English, Alfred is so distracted by the warm motion of a hand on his cock he can barely comprehend what the other man is saying. 

  
“Do you open your legs for anyone? Or just for me?” 

  
Alfred moaned, he hasn’t been intimate with Russia since- since back then. Ever since he had been chasing that high. Men were desperate during the Depression, on the right side of town Alfred could find anyone at the docks willing to do anything for a dollar. But it never had quite been the same, it was dirtier and held a lot less emotional weight to it, each time he tried it he’d blue ball the guy halfway through and leave. He had, at first, gone to Germany for comfort after the war. They had both been fucked up and he often wondered if Germany only went along with it because of the debt he owed America or if he actually liked him. He almost told Russia this, just to piss him off. 

  
“Answer me,” Russia commanded, pressing down.

  
It was a loaded question, something Ivan could hold over his head either way. Something he’d know deep down at every encounter they’d have then on. “N-no,” Afred gasped because he hated himself, “Just you,” his voice hitched as Ivan began jerking him off rhythmically. 

  
Ivan didn’t say anything, much to America’s surprise. No comment on how predictable America was or that he was a lying whore. That Ivan knew he probably opened his legs for any nation that spared him more than three seconds of attention. But he didn’t. Alfred didn’t know if he should thank him for it, sparing him from wallowing further in self misery.

  
Ivan pulled away from Alfred, leaving him sprawled on the table. Alfred grabbed his arm, turning Ivan back towards him, in a simile to something from the past he carefully rubbed Ivan’s cheek. His other hand reached down to rub Ivan’s crotch, he licked his lips, “please?”

  
Wordlessly, Ivan nodded. As if on autopilot, Alfred slid down the table, going to his knees. He made quick work of Ivan’s belt and pants and perhaps too eagerly pulled them down. 

  
He wasn’t sure if it was something he should hold as a point of pride. He was certain that he gave killer head, not that he had really much experience with other nations save Russia and – Germany. Alfred didn’t want to fucking think about Germany. He licked the head of Ivan’s cock holding his hands on Russia’s thighs while Ivan’s hand carded through his hair. He didn’t want to think about anything, he didn’t want to think about the war, he didn’t want to think about his boss is probably wondering where he ran off to, he didn’t want to think about the unknown of the future. About going toe to toe with the Soviet Union- 

  
He popped open his mouth, moving to sucking Ivan’s cock now. Bobbing his head as a he began to take more and more of Ivan in. Ivan’s cock was the one he was the most familiar with. Long and girthy, Alfred had always struggled to take all of Ivan in his mouth. Alfred gagged as he reaches the base of Ivan’s cock, his nose nestled in the hairs of Ivan’s crotch and tears springing in the corner of his eyes. Ivan rubbed his temple, almost soothingly as Alfred retracted and tried to relax his throat, tried to control his breathing. 

  
He went up and down the length now, faster getting used to the feeling again. Russia would be proud, he was being careful with his teeth, slurping at the head and going back down again this time not even gagging as he reached the base. Repeat and rinse. As Alfred went down, he became increasingly aware of the noises Ivan was making. Or the lack there of. 

  
Years ago, Ivan would shower his with praise, he’d anchor him and reminded him that he was doing so good. That he loved him. But he didn’t hear any of that today, just the occasional grunt and moan of pleasure. Alfred looked up at Ivan, but the man wasn’t even looking down at him, he was staring straight ahead, in a different world. 

  
Something broke in Alfred, he didn’t know what. Why wasn’t Ivan looking at him? 

  
He hummed on the member, trying to do something different- trying desperately to catch Russia’s attention. 

  
Ivan yanked on his hair, his violet eyes snapping down and his expression unreadable. Alfred keened; his cheeks hollowing on Russia’s dick. 

  
The taller man pushed Alfred away, a string of saliva followed still connecting Alfred’s lips to Ivan’s cock. 

  
“V-Vanya?” Alfred stuttered brokenly; Ivan stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights. 

  
For a tense moment they remained there. 

  
“You don’t mean it,” Russia said through gritted teeth. 

  
America didn’t know if he did or didn’t mean it, he just wanted his Vanya back. Or maybe he just wanted to get a rise out of Russia, get him to say something. Maybe get him angry enough that he’d just shove him down and- America didn’t complete the thought. 

  
He staggered up; his knees felt weak like jelly. “I know…I’m sorry,” he croaked, reaching for Russia to pull him into a kiss. Where before their kisses were heated and boiled with anger, this one held an air of sadness. 

  
He felt up and down Russia’s chest, feeling the fabric and how significantly less solid the man was. He felt something clunky in the pocket of Ivan’s blazer, a small container of KY jelly. He studied Ivan’s face. So, he had planned this from the moment he left his hotel room, huh? Alfred tried to figure out if he cared or not. 

  
A coy smile etched his features, “might as well start the show then?” he asked, shaking the lubricant. 

  
Ivan smiled at him; any sadness no longer external as he snatched the KY jelly from Alfred. “If you want to be a participant of course.” More confident now, he pushed Alfred back onto the table, yanking Alfred’s pants the rest of the way down. 

  
This was the Russia he liked. Alfred decided, widening his legs as Ivan lubed his fingers to prep him. He shuddered as a thick finger probed his entrance, tugging at his rim. Ivan gave a satisfied grunt before he began fingering Alfred. A second finger was quick to join, scissoring him, widening him, prepping him. 

  
Alfred let himself get engrossed in the feeling as a third finger was added he closed his eyes with a moan. Every thought of what he and Ivan was discarded as he focused on the pleasure. He grumbled in protest as they were removed, impatient for the feeling of being filled. Impatient for the distraction.

  
His impatience didn’t last long as he felt the head of Ivan’s cock tease his entrance. He gasped, opening his eyes as Ivan gripped his thighs and began to push himself in. “Fuck…” he cursed as Ivan went further and further in.

“You’re so tight…” Ivan gritted out, pausing to let Alfred get use to his cock. 

  
“I..I told you…only you,” Alfred panted, “I…I had G-Germany in the twenties…” he admitted, sucking in his breath as Ivan’s grip tightened. “He…wasn’t you though…” he wheezed. 

  
Ivan looked annoyed at the mere mention of Germany and began to shallowly thrust in and out of America. “He’s not,” he said with clenched teeth. 

  
Ivan quickened the pace, pushing harder and faster into the younger nation, searching for the sweet spot. When he found it, he had America gasping, “y-yes, right there,” he praised, lifting his hips.   
He wanted Ivan to curse him out, to call him a dirty slut. To tell him he was barley worth a fuck. But Russia didn’t say anything of that nature to him and America wondered if he was ignoring him because he wasn’t worth the air. 

  
“F-fuck Ivan…” he moaned as the Russian continued his brutal pace. “I’m surprised… you aren’t calling me a slut, your little fuck sleeve. Real degrading stuff.” He said it in an almost cocky manner like he knew everything about Ivan, like he had Ivan pegged. 

  
Ivan paused; his hands stilled on Alfred’s thighs. “…you don’t know what I’d do.” He finally said, his voice measured and careful. “You don’t know me.” 

  
Alfred wanted to protest but his thoughts were interrupted by Russia resuming his pace, this time a bit more aggressive and impersonal. The table began to wobble under them, with each thrust the table now actively thudding against the wall and Alfred could only moan louder and louder. 

  
“я любил тебя” Ivan sobbed out as he came in Alfred. The younger nation got lost in the euphoria of feeling himself filled his hand shakily going to his own cock to jerk himself to completion. Climaxing only seconds later, overstimulated to hell.

  
As Alfred rode down the waves of his climax his dumb brain finally caught up with the rest of him. Ivan was still hunched over him, hands bracing the table and shaking. Crying. 

  
“Me too,” Alfred quietly said, rubbing Ivan’s forearm in a comforting manner. But he wasn’t Vanya anymore, and Alfred wasn’t Fredya. 

  
Making his way back to his hotel room Alfred dodge Arthur and his questions, he pushed past the soldiers posted to guard the halls and made a bee line towards the comfort of his own space. Well, it would be if the Soviets hadn’t fucking bugged the place. 

  
He threw himself to his bed and sobbed into his pillow, ignoring the now unsettling feeling the stickiness now felt between his thighs. 

  
He shouldn’t be here; he should’ve told his boss he didn’t want to leave the front. It was then that he realized he didn’t actually want Ivan to treat him like trash, like the dirt stuck on his boot. He just wanted to justify his hatred for the new Ivan and his love for Vanya. He wanted to have a mental distinction between how Ivan treated him in bed and how Vanya treated him in bed. But they weren’t two different people, they were the same fucking person. 

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first porn here 😩 
> 
> Russian Translations:  
> солнышко - sunshine  
> я любил тебя - I loved you 
> 
> I didn't plan on this being so sad?? I just read a few Kent Parson fics and got into the mood of writing something sad. It's more of dive into the emotional state of Alfred at this moment than porn imo but I *tried*


End file.
